


for neither ever, nor never

by nightmmares



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Character Death, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Travel, but does that count with time travel, i guess you could call it a fix it, spoilers for up to and post 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmmares/pseuds/nightmmares
Summary: He’s going to See the Eye. He doesn’t care if it kills him. He just wants it tohurt.At the end of all things, it does hurt. What was it Michael had said, long before Jon could ever understand; “the agony of being opened and remade”?Jon is hurtled back in time and makes a plan.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 81
Kudos: 426





	1. i feel for you and i wanna change

**Author's Note:**

> i really just wanted to write besotted martin with besotted jon but it kind of turned into something else. might continue?

The end of the world is not what breaks Jon. It certainly comes close, wracks him with guilt and shame and disgust. It makes him curl in on himself, shrink until it hurts and just a little more, for good measure. It makes him obsessive, pouring over tapes that speak of loss, of missed opportunities, of _stupid, stupid_ ignorance, and isn’t that funny? Perhaps they all would have been better off if he had stayed that way, but that’s the part that hurts the worst about Knowing, isn’t it? There are so many things Jon would take back, but if he Knows it, there is no taking it back.

But, no. The end of the world does not _break_ him. Martin would not let it.

They struggle and they forge a path forward even when there are no roads left and they _love_ each other, relentlessly. That is the only thing that Jon is sure of, trusts completely, even with all of the things he Knows. Martin loves him, is loved by him. The truth is in the small touches they share, the tiny upturn of Martin’s lips, the feeling that grips Jon’s heart and squeezes when Martin laughs. Jon has never known a person so intimately, has never been known by anyone in kind. Georgie had come close, closer than Jon had ever deserved, but it had never felt like it did with Martin.

They trudge their way through apocalypse after apocalypse, with a half-baked plan to kill the man, the _thing,_ that had put these horrors into motion. It’s alright, because they have each other. Of course there are bad moments, but when Martin is resting his head on Jon’s lap and Jon is carding his fingers through the man’s pale curls, it all seems much more bearable.

Jon knows he doesn’t deserve Martin. That’s not something the Eye ever had to tell him. He does his best to make up for it, to force himself to express things he’s never been able to, to reach out instead of being reached for. The problem with Jon is that he’s terrible at the timing with the important things, always has been. It’s not to say that Jon never says that he loves Martin, that he cares what Martin thinks, that he knows he is the luckiest person in this new world.

It’s just that…well, holding the man he loves in his arms as he begs Martin not to go, for the End to not take him, to just _stay awake, please, please Martin,_ he knows he should have said those things a lot more, a lot earlier.

It is this much smaller but more significant loss that breaks Jon. The Eye does not, if it even ever had the capability, care. A broken record still plays.

Another constant about Jon is that he makes terrible, rash decisions. He makes one exactly forty-two hours and thirteen minutes after Martin dies, dragging himself away from the body and letting rage carry him all the way to the Panopticon.

He’s going to See the Eye. He doesn’t care if it kills him. He just wants it to _hurt._

At the end of all things, it does hurt. What was it Michael had said, long before Jon could ever understand; “the agony of being opened and remade”?

* * *

Jon’s head hurts. Nothing unusual there, he supposes. His eyes are shut, face pressed against something hard, and there is a vague tingling sensation spreading from his shoulders through his arms. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, doesn’t want to see a world without Martin in it, doesn’t want to face the fact that he could not even avenge the man he loves.

But there is a ticking sound. A steady rhythm that had not existed in the Panopticon. Jon’s fingers twitch with the urge to Know, and he lets it open his eyes because there is nothing left to fight. The sight makes him jerk back so abruptly he almost topples over.

It’s the building that had once been the Archive before that had become himself, the office where Jon had worked himself half to death, the clock above his door ticking studiously away.

Jon blinks.

It’s a trick. It must be

He glances down at his desk, a haphazard mess of papers and a single tape recorder just to the right of his hand. It’s recording. Of course it is.

“What is this…” Jon begins, his voice hoarse, but the words die on his tongue. The Eye has never answered any questions he was actually interested in learning the answer to. He blinks again, staring down at his hands. Very, very faintly there are the small scars left by the attack on Jane Prentiss, but they are nowhere near as visible as they once were.

Jon stumbles out of his chair, knocking things off of his desk in the process. He desperately searches for anything with a reflective surface, settling for an old teaspoon and thrusting it close to his neck. The scar Daisy gave him is only visible because he knows it should be there.

His heart is thumping wildly, and isn’t that a sensation to be feeling? His head still hurts, a dull ache, and his knees feel weak. Jon’s eyes drift to the door to his office. The glass is frosted, giving no indication of what lay beyond it. Jon feels fear, sharp and unbidden, at the thought of what might be behind that door. Would it be the Panopticon? Would it be the Institute? He isn’t sure which scenario is worse.

It is the unwelcome urge to know that pulls his feet forward, to find out which reality really is worse. Jon’s hand is shaking almost violently, but it closes around the knob all the same. It takes a moment for him to actually open the door, and what he sees knocks the wind out of him.

There is a woman across the way, sitting at a desk with her body half-turned toward him. She looks familiar, but _not_ familiar.

This is the real Sasha, he Knows.

He has to grip the door frame to keep himself standing. Her words are ringing in his head, _I’m unforgettable!_

Her eyes flick up and pause when she realizes he’s actually standing in the door to her office. She smiles, but there’s a little bit of confusion there, too. “Are you alright, Jon?” Her voice—it’s the same one he’s hearing inside of his own mind.

“S-Sasha,” he says, but it comes out choked. He had forgotten, well, obviously all of her, but he’d forgotten specifically just how much he _liked_ her. She was approachable, patient, intelligent. It had been easy to see her as a friend, until her being had been hijacked by something that was definitively not so. Her eyes were always so gentle, he is remembering now.

There is concern in her voice, her brows pinching together, “Jon?”

Far too used to speaking any words that come to his mind, he blurts, “Am I dead?”

Her eyes widen and she rises from her chair. She approaches him cautiously, like he is a wounded animal. “You’re scaring me, Jon,” she says evenly, “Did something happen?”

He can’t help it. He laughs. He laughs hysterically, manically, and can’t seem to make himself stop. Sasha seems torn, and eventually calls out less steadily, “Tim? Tim, come here!”

“What’s going on?” Tim says in that easy way of his, or the easy way that _used_ to be his, from some distance away, “There’s no need to shout. This is a _library,_ you know.”

 _“Tim!”_ she shouts again, and this must making him hurry, appearing just around a corner. He stop-starts when he sees Jon and Sasha, quickly moving next to her after a pause.

Jon can barely see him through the tears, but it’s enough.

_I don’t forgive you._

Jon’s hysterical laughter is becoming choppy, hiccuping sobs. “Boss, what’s going on? Do you need an ambulance or something?” Tim is trying to sound placating, but even he is afraid.

How could Jon ever blame them?

“You’re seriously freaking us out,” Tim tries to take a few steps closer. Jon is trying to control himself, to wrestle his body and his mind into just calming the fuck down. He supposes that he is well and truly broken.

“I’m—so—sorry,” he manages to gasp out and shakes his head. He covers his mouth with a hand that should be scarred and feels dizzy. His feelings are overwhelming, more potent and demanding than they have been in a long while. The only thing he’d felt toward the end, After Martin as he thinks of it, was rage. He doesn’t Know what he’s supposed to be feeling now: gratitude, relief, terror, anger?

The last thing that he knows he feels before he passes out is fear, raw and desperate; that this is the only glimpse he will get into this life.

* * *

Jon wakes again and does not take so long to open his eyes this time. He is on his back, staring at bland white tiles in a room too bright to really be comforting. He takes a deep breath, just because he _can_ and lets his eyes close again. He Knows he is a hospital, and he knows that the back of his head hurts more than usual.

He wonders briefly if this is all some trick of the Eye, but can’t completely find it in himself to care. How much more could the Eye hurt him? What else could he possibly lose?

Jon’s eyes fly open and he gasps, “Martin!”

He is not expecting the flurry of movement to his left, a soft man in a hard chair looking like he’s had the fright of his life. His hands twitch and flutter, as if not sure what to do. His eyes are wide, and his face is practically radiating heat.

He is beautiful.

“J-Jon?” Martin splutters, clearly not expecting the man to have awoken and to gasp his own name. Martin begins to stand, unsure, “Are you alright? Should—Should I get a nurse?”

Jon just stares at him, his throat thick and the sorry excuse in his chest for a heart squeezing so terribly. Martin’s eyes are brighter than they had been after the Lonely, and he looks much _fuller,_ less sallow and drained.

Martin must take his unnerving stare as confirmation, because he practically stumbles to the door, glancing nervously at Jon. “Uh, hello? Someone—my friend, he’s just woken…”

He’s in the past, Jon knows, his gaze raking over Martin. This is Before Martin. This is before the apocalypse, before the Unknowing, before the Prentiss attack, before the Buried, just…Before.

He still hasn’t said anything, he realizes. Martin is leaning out of the door now, trying to flag someone down. Before he can really think about what’s happening, he croaks, “I’m sorry.”

Martin turns back to look at him, confused, “What?”

Jon finds it easier to stare at his hands, the last thing that had held Martin, a long time ago from now. He wants to cry. He wants to throw himself into Martin’s arms. He wants to take everything back. But first, so importantly, “I’m sorry, Martin. So…sorrier than you could ever understand.”

Martin stares at him, a little worriedly and a little sadly. Eventually he stutters, “Just…just hang on, Jon. You’ll be okay.”

Jon can’t help but snort softly at that. Idly, he wonders if that sentiment had ever been true. Certainly not since he joined the Institute, but perhaps not even before then. Jon stays quiet, so tired of doing damage with his words and honestly, selfishly, content to just watch Martin.

An attendant informs Jon that he had a fall, a little _episode,_ most likely stress induced. He’d banged his head just a bit, but nothing very serious. It would heal quickly, they said. If only they knew, he thought. Martin sat by the entire time; hands clasped nervously in his lap. The attendant seems rather in a hurry to get Jon out, so he is signing discharge papers before he knows it, despite Martin’s nervous glances.

It is only once they’re outside, in the busy city streets, that Jon finally looks at Martin again. It hurts and his hand itches to take Martin’s. He doesn’t. “I assume the others told you what happened?”

Martin shrinks, like he is expecting to be berated, “Yes, yes, they were, uh, quite worried. Said you’d been acting…odd. And we didn’t know who to call so…I stayed with you. Just to make sure you were alright…”

Jon can’t help the gentle smile that pulls at his lips, no matter how inappropriate it seems here and now. His voice is soft, “Thank you, Martin. I apologize for my behavior—just, uh, probably something I ate.”

He is no better at lying. Martin looks at him strangely, expression quirked so beautifully, “Are you? Alright, that is?”

There is so much Jon could say. What comes out is, “Quite.”

Martin nods, but then he frowns. “Are you _sure?_ It’s just…you apologized and that’s not a very Jon thing to do?” He blushes after he says it, like he realizes what he’s implied about Jon.

It’s fine. He’s right. “I…” Jon starts, trying to decide what he wants to be. If this is a second chance, shouldn’t he take it? If he can change things…but what is there to really change in a world that winds and twists so persistently toward misery? Jon has to…he has to _think._ “I think you should probably be getting home, Martin. I’m sure I’ve kept you late enough already.”

Martin looks half-cowed, half-ready to argue, but his embarrassment seems to win. “O-Okay, if you’re sure.”

Jon is very sure that letting Martin out of his sight will probably be more than he can handle, but…it’s a pain he deserves. He nods, thin-lipped and Martin nods back, awkwardly turning to hurry down the street. Jon has never had much self-control, “Martin.”

“Yes, Jon?” Martin is turned back around almost immediately.

“Get home safe, alright?” He says, aching to _do_ more, to _say_ more.

Martin smiles, a tiny little thing that Jon wants to keep close, and nods, setting back off. Jon watches his hunched shoulders until he turns a corner, out of sight. Jon has to resist going after him, but there is no point. No harm has come to Martin yet, and if Jon can help it, no harm will.

He isn’t quite sure where to go after Martin leaves. His flat has not been his for so very long that he has no desire to go there. Home had only been with Martin, and Jon isn’t sure if it’s a place he will ever get back to. He decides to return to the Institute. It is treacherous and sinister and probably exactly where he belongs.

Jon hopes that Elias is not Watching, though he doubts even Elias or Jonah would be able to understand what’s happened to the Archivist so soon since his arrival. He lets himself into the Archive, drifts past the desks that hurt a little to look at and settles into his office. This is a little more familiar, without all the people around.

The first thing he does is get rid of every piece of eye paraphernalia in the room that he had never taken much notice of before. There’s quite a lot actually, and it makes anger simmer underneath his determination. He makes sure to mumble excuses about the décor as he does so, just in case.

At last, he sinks into his chair and isn’t very surprised to hear the distinctive _click_ of a tape recorder nearby. He presses the tips of his fingers together and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want Jonah to hear him, to know what’s happened, but he still very much feels that he does not want to become a mystery. He decides, against the odds, to hope that the man is simply not watching.

So he speaks, “Statement of the Archivist, straight from subject, regarding…the future and the past. Time seems less relevant now. I…I don’t quite know what happened, if I’m honest. I know that I was so angry it nearly blinded me, and that I wanted to turn it on…turn it on the one who I blamed. I know that I eventually did. It all goes a little blank after that, but I think…I have the vaguest recollection of feeling the excitement of the Watcher, of how delicious…” he trails off, unsettled, “Perhaps it was bored. I suppose I became a rather dull battery after that. Maybe that’s why I’m here, after the end of all things and before them. I suppose someone has to be listening to these tapes, so I should clarify. My name is Jonathan Sims and I have…I have lived this life already. For whatever reason, I have returned to a previous point in time. The details as to _why_ are not all that clear, yet, but I believe that…that I may be able to make a difference. The day I’ve had certainly never happened before.

“I am not foolish enough to think that I can save everyone. My experience has been quite contrary to that idea. But…there are those for who I will not settle for less. Martin, of course.” Jon pauses, finds a lump in his throat. It is strange, to be grieving someone who is still alive. “My wonderful Martin…I will not let them take him and I will _not_ subject him to the end of the world. If I succeed, he will never meet Peter Lukas, he won’t be trapped here, he’ll…move on. It’s what he deserves. It’s hard,” he admits, “to see him now and not be able to tell him that I love him, to hold him, to see him so skittish around me. But I…I think it will be better if it stays that way. Easier for him.”

Jon clears his throat and wipes wetness from his eyes, “Sasha…I will not let her be taken again. If I can prevent that, then I’m not quite sure what else there is to protect her from. But she will be free, eventually…and perhaps she will get the job she deserves. I hope so. Dear God, I hope so. Tim…I know Tim wants revenge, but I’m not sure that I can give it to him. The Unknowing, it’s not something we need to attend, and I certainly won’t allow him to handle the detonator. Perhaps all I can give him is…freedom and an explanation. That the Stranger will always fail, though that’s probably not very comforting…”

“Georgie and Melanie…there’s not much I can do for them. I won’t contact Georgie, leave her out of all this mess. Depending on the date…I may be able to contact Melanie and warn her. Warn her of what? Sarah? India? What was the point of no return? Besides joining the Institute, of course.” Jon sighs, frustrated, “There are so many variables and I’m afraid I may have the constants wrong. Not all of them, but some. I want to help Daisy, but without the coffin, would the world ever be enough to quiet her blood? Perhaps she and Basira were better off the way they were. Perhaps I could send them on a chase, far away from here and ultimately harmless. The issue…I have an idea. Martin was never very fond of those, but it may be the safest way for everyone to survive. I need to kill…I need to kill the parasite _and_ the host. Then…then I need to die. That should set things right for quite a long while, the rest of Martin’s life, at least. It’s possible that no other would ever make the connections about separate rituals…”

“I can’t…I can’t smite them here. As much as it pains me to encourage her, I may need to recruit Daisy. If I can never get her to trust me, I should at least be able to satisfy her with the death of a few monsters. It’s not something I particularly want to do, involve her, that is, but I can hardly kill myself easily. Blinding myself _may_ work, but it’s not as good of a guarantee as an Avatar of the Hunt. It can’t be left to chance.

I suppose I’ve been rambling. I don’t know who is listening, and at this point, I don’t think I care. What you need to know is this: I will save the man I love and die trying, I am okay with that, and the world will be too. There are enough monsters. I just have to take out the right ones. Statement ends.”


	2. if i'm losing now, but i'm winning late, thats all i want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall got me

Elias visits him the next day, but Jon is prepared. He is no better a liar, but he’s hoping he’s prepared for enough questions that it will be easier to talk around. If anything, he is less prepared to deal with the presence of Elias than the man’s probing questions. It will take restraint to keep himself from launching at the man.

“Jon,” Elias smiles, just a bit too widely, “How are you feeling? I heard you had taken ill yesterday…”

“I’m fine,” Jon says gruffly, and the contempt in his voice is no charade, “An accident, really. I was reading a statement, but then I started to feel lightheaded. Nothing to worry about.”

Elias considers him, “You must take care of yourself, Jon. We don’t want to lose you here.”

Jon clenches his fist under the desk hard enough to press his nails into his flesh, “I’ve no intention of going anywhere. Undoing all of Gertrude’s mess will take a fair bit of time, and I intend to get this archive in working order. I was actually just going to prepare another statement.”

Elias flashes his teeth again, and he genuinely seems satisfied, “Excellent. I’ll leave you to it.”

Jon exhales when Elias leaves, hoping that his emphasis on statements lets the man think that Jon is moving in the right direction, making progress. He does not have any intention of reading statements that have not first passed through his assistants. There will always be that fear in him, that he will be manipulated once more into heralding the apocalypse. Jon’s only hope on that front is that the Eye doesn’t necessarily want the new world yet, not when it has some new terror to feed on. Maybe it will even keep Elias from being able to do too much harm.

There is a soft knock on his door, and Jon is only a little surprised to see that it’s Martin. “Good morning, Jon,” he says cheerily enough, but there is still that strained undercurrent under it, “Just—Just wondering if you’d like some tea?”

Jon tries to act normally, but even he knows the odds are very slim. He settles for a curt, “Yes, Martin.”

Martin nods and quietly shuts the door behind him. Jon considers his desk, trying to determine what the least harmful activity will be that will still manage to be helpful. The idea has occurred to him that maybe he can still play up the paranoid angle. He knows he can trust his assistants, of course, but perhaps it will do him some good to keep an eye and know what they’re doing. He’s not stupid enough to stalk Tim again.

Martin returns shortly with a too sweet tea that Jon is sure he will guzzle down. It has been so long since he’s had a cup of Martin’s tea, but it will always remain a comfort. Martin stands awkwardly after he delivers his tea, looking as if he wants to say something.

“Yes?” Jon raises his eyebrows.

Martin fidgets. “I…are you feeling better today?”

Jon nods and chances a sip at the tea even though steam is still rising from it. He can’t help the very, very small smile on his face. Martin must notice because his cheeks are just a little bit redder than before. “Yes. Just needed a little rest, like the doctors said.”

“Oh,” Martin nods to himself and then looks at Jon in a way that twists something in chest, “Good. Good. I’m glad.”

Martin keeps standing there. Jon glances past him, and carefully says, “Back to work?

Martin blinks. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

* * *

He leaves but does not shut the door behind him. Jon almost gets up to close it but finds that he would rather leave it open. The noises of life from inside the Institute are much less distracting than they would have been once upon a time. Jon is very much tired of closed doors at this point.

Eventually he does get distracted by the hushed voices of his assistants. Tim seems to be grilling Martin, Sasha occasionally jumping in.

“—but he was fine?” Tim asks, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe it.

“Well, I don’t know!” Martin hisses back, “They let him go, didn’t they? And he seemed…alright.”

“It _seemed_ like he had a bloody mental breakdown!” Tim insists, “There’s got to be something else.”

“Tim,” Jon can practically hear Sasha rolling her eyes, “He’s only human. Maybe the stress of the new job got to him.”

“You saw the way he looked at us, Sash…like he was afraid…” Tim trails off.

“…he did say he was sorry,” Martin says softly, “for scaring you guys.”

There is a stunned pause.

“He _apologized?”_ Sasha says uncertainly.

“I’m right!” Tim declares, “Maybe he’s gone through one of those personality changes after he hit his head. Maybe he’ll be a downright angel now.”

“Tim,” Sasha says, like she is admonishing a child.

Martin doesn’t say anything else and Tim seems to sigh. The conversation dies there, and Jon is glad for it. He has work to do.

* * *

Jon isn’t sure how easy it’s going to be to transfer an artifact to another institute, but it’s the only idea he has. He had briefly considered sending it to The Trophy Room but had decided that the other avatars might cause too much harm with it. The Pu Songling Research Centre is his best hope.

It turns out to be much easier than he thought it would be. His status as Head Archivist intimidates the receptionist into not looking too closely at any of the details. He tells them that the artifact had been requested by the Research Centre, due to a possible connection to someone’s (he picks the name he Knows is a researcher who works there) work. Jon advises that the table be escorted by at least two people, due to it’s weight.

He is assured that the table will be off and gone as soon as possible. For the first time in a very long while, he feels like he has _helped._ It makes the fear bite into him that much deeper.

Just to be safe, he picks out Amy Patel and Lawrence Moore’s statements for his team to review. He calls Sasha into his office to deliver them.

“You wanted me?” She grins, but her eyes are probing.

“Yes, take a seat, if you wouldn’t mind,” Jon clears his throat. He can’t help but stare at her as she moves, mesmerized by just how _different_ NotSasha was and how they possibly could have missed it.

“First,” he begins, “I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I know…Martin has made it clear that this behavior is irregular of me, but I…I hope you know that I mean it.”

“We just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Sasha says sympathetically.

Jon nods, “I am. I also have a few requests, while you’re here. I think I would like to suspend field work for the foreseeable future. I’ve been made aware that…I may have given the idea that I do not value the safety of my employees. I’m hoping focusing more on the information we can reach while within the Institute will suffice for follow-up.”

Sasha looks confused, “Someone said you don’t encourage our safety?”

Jon looks uncomfortable, “Not in so many words, but yes. Perhaps its best not to make waves just yet. Alright?”

Sasha nods, even though it looks like there’s more she wants to say, “That it?”

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind distributing these cases. I’d like all of you to look into them.”

She takes the folders and rises. Just before she crosses the threshold, she looks back at him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jon.”

He wishes he could return the sentiment to her.

Jon returns to his work, which is pretending to organize statements while he’s really thinking about how to get into the tunnels. The trapdoor is pretty much out of the question, but there are other exits…

Jon’s not sure how much help Jurgen Leitner will be, but he hopes the man will have some information on Elias’s weakness. Jon has not forgotten the claim that killing Elias kills the employees. He Knows that’s not quite so true, but he is afraid to risk it.

There is always the risk of getting caught as well. Gertrude had seemed to move fairly freely, but was that because Elias only feared her at the end? If he can extend the powers of the tunnels to himself, to cloak his interactions, he would feel much better.

Leitner had seemed inclined to help last time, so it will just be the matter of getting to him. That will be Jon’s next step then, but it will have to wait. He has already caused enough of a stir. For now…for now he will be a little selfish and be with the people he loves.

* * *

The cracks start to appear a few days later. Things have settled, have been monotonous and _normal_ , and Jon loves it. Tim, instead of directly confronting Jon, has decided to observe and put together his own investigation. Jon doesn’t mind, still finds it hard to look him in the eye without…well.

The table has still not been moved. Jon has been sure to keep an eye on its progress. He is assured that it will ship in the next few days, customs permits and all that, but he would rather it be gone sooner than later. It makes his side ache if he thinks of the Not Them too often.

There is a slight commotion outside Jon’s office, near the clump of assistant desks. A woman sounds a little distressed and after it continues for a moment, Jon rises to see what’s going on. His stomach almost drops out at the sight of Georgie Barker, arguing with Sasha and gesturing a little wildly. Before he can stumble back into his office and possibly hide under the desk, resisting the urge to Know why she’s here, she spots him. There is an odd sort of relief that washes over her face and she seems to relax a little.

“Jon!” she shouts, as if recognizing his indecision.

All eyes swivel to him, from Sasha to Tim to Martin, who is trying to pretend he is typing instead of listening. “I—” he doesn’t quite know what to say, “Georgie?”

Georgie seems to finally be able to push her way past Sasha, speaking fast, “Jon, it’s so good to see you, I was so worried, your assistant said I couldn’t just _see_ you, but I had to—”

Her voice muffles when she presses her face into his chest, wrapping him in a hug. Jon’s response is automatic, one of his coming up to rest at the top of her back. He is well aware of the intense gazes of his assistants, no one even bothering to hide it.

It takes more strength than he wants to admit to resist sinking into her comfort. Georgie had once known him best, and he has hurt so _much_ and he knows she would listen. But he can’t. He can’t. Not to her. Not again. “Georgie?” he asks softly, “What are you doing here?”

Georgie pulls away, seeming satisfied, “I—” she glances back at the assistants, “Can we talk in your office?”

“Of course,” he nods, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his hands are shaking. He takes longer than is probably necessary to close the door.

When they are both settled, Jon asks, “So…?”

“Okay, so…this is going to sound weird, alright? I know that,” she says, which is not a promising start. “I’ve had…I’ve had a nightmare. A bad one. You were in it.”

Jon is too preoccupied with the way his skin is prickling to stop himself from realizing what he’s doing before it’s too late, **“What happened?”**

“I know we haven’t seen each other,” she starts, and her voice is contemplative, steady in the way that statement givers get, “I hadn’t even really thought of you in a while. But I had a dream. I knew it was different because I wasn’t in the lab, where most of my nightmares occur. I was in this round room, full of windows that I couldn’t see out of. There was a man there, but he didn’t have any eyes. He was smiling at something behind me, so I turned around. There were more people there: a woman with a headscarf, a woman with a mess of tattoos, a man with curly hair…and you. You were standing in front of them and shouting. You were so _angry_. I couldn’t hear you, but I could tell. The room was starting to shake, and glass started raining down on everyone. I looked up at where the ceiling should have been and there was…there was an eye, looking down at me, at you.

“When I looked back at the people…it was like they were less there. Like maybe they’d actually never been there at all. Except for you and the old man. You—you stopped shouting, eventually. The man stopped smiling. And Jon…you looked like you were so _hungry._ You stepped forward, closer to the old man. Your lips moved like you were speaking intently, like you were…I don’t know, reading the man something that you knew he hated. He started screaming and your lips just moved faster and faster until it was practically a blur. You moved in front of him so that I couldn’t see him anymore, but there was this wet, popping sound. After a moment, you turned around. You didn’t have any eyes, not anymore. There was blood dripping from the sockets like tears. But you smiled at me and you said, “It’s okay, Georgie.” I realized the windows around us had shattered and now those people were standing in front of some of them, but not looking out. They didn’t have any eyes either, so I don’t know what they would have even seen.

“I woke up and I wasn’t afraid, not really. But I couldn’t stop thinking, _why’d I dream about Jon?_ So I decided to look you up, just to see how you were doing. I couldn’t find anything at first, and that made me worry that maybe I was too late. For what, I’m not really sure. But then I found a dead link on an ancient site that had your name listed among the staff. So I came here, looking for you, not really sure what I would…see.”

Jon is breathing hard by the end of her statement, though she’d done all the talking. Georgie looks at him oddly, “I didn’t mean for it to all come out like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the vigor he can feel in his bones from a fresh statement, “I’m really sorry, Georgie.”

“It’s alright,” she shrugs, “You collect spooky stories here, don’t you? Just another one for the collection.”

Jon’s lips twisted into something that might have been a smile. “You shouldn’t have come all this way. I’m alright.”

“Are you?” she prods, “You seem a little…off.”

He could never lie to Georgie. “I…things have been strained; I won’t lie. But I’ll be alright.”

“I hope so,” Georgie says, leaning forward and resting a hand on his, “It just felt so real—”

She is interrupted by a quick knock on the door, and it seems as if Martin has been thrust in. His face is red. Jon jerks his hand out from Georgie’s rather roughly.

“Sorry, uh, to interrupt. Just checking to see if you’d like some…tea,” he finishes lamely.

Jon clears his throat, aware of the heat on his own face, “Maybe—Maybe in a bit, Martin.”

Martin nods awkwardly and closes the door almost as quickly as he’d opened it.

Georgie is staring at Jon with wide eyes. He can see the glint in her eye. He Knows what she’s thinking.

“Jon,” she says, high-pitched and delighted.

“No,” he says, sounding a bit strangled. His face is practically on fire now.

 _“Jon!”_ she insists, unable to hold back a giggle.

“Georgie…” he says miserably.

“You have a crush,” she says, almost breathlessly. “I _know_ you. You’re practically smitten. You should have heard yourself.”

“It’s not like that!” Jon insists, sounding much younger than he is, “Its—I’m his boss—its totally—its nothing!”

“Sounds like nothing,” she nods gleefully. She pauses though, something passing over her face, “Hang on, I recognize him.”

Jon had hoped she wouldn’t.

“He was in that dream…isn’t that weird?” her brows furrow, and Jon swallows thickly.

“Yes, it is a bit weird,” he allows, “but you know, your brain could be just trying to…trying to fit him in there.”

“Maybe,” she says thoughtfully. Then, “I think you should be careful, Jon.”

“I know, Georgie,” he says and he means it.

She glances at her phone and sits a little straighter. “Listen, I should be going, but…it was nice to see you, Jon. Really.”

“You as well,” he says, his throat getting a bit stuck again. “Give the Admiral my love?”

“Of course,” she smiles, leaning over to half-hug him again. Jon feels the panic begin to rise in his stomach. He can’t stop himself.

“Actually, Georgie, since you’re here…would you do something for me?”

She looks curiously at him, “What is it?”

“Don’t…don’t work with Sarah Baldwin again, alright? She’s actually come up in a few statements…I don’t think she’s a very safe person to be around,” Jon knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “While I was looking into her, I saw her credited on a few of your episodes, so…”

Georgie is silent for a moment before she finally says, “Okay.” Perhaps she’s already had bad vibes about Sarah. Maybe it will keep her from recommending the woman to Melanie.

Jon rises awkwardly, “Let me walk you out.”

The questions start as soon as he returns. “Who was that, Jon?” Tim needles loudly, “An old flame?”

He knows Tim is joking, but he isn’t sure what else he’s supposed to say. “Actually, yes.”

“What.” Tim is thrown off, clearly shocked. Jon pretends he doesn’t hear a little gasp from Martin.

“We dated in college. It’s unimportant,” Jon waves dismissively. He can’t help but glance at Martin out of the corner of his eye.

“First you act like a maniac and hit your head and now some lady just waltzes in here, hugging you? Something is definitely up!” Tim insists, seeming to have reached his breaking point.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jon says, “I don’t know why it even _matters.”_

“It matters because you’re acting strange and this place is bad news when it comes to strangeness! Sasha’s told me about Artifact Storage!” Tim shakes his head, “You don’t apologize! You don’t hug people! Are you sure you haven’t secretly been replaced?”

Jon doesn’t want to snap. But suddenly he is so very tired, so sick to his stomach with grief, that all he can do it bite out, “I’m sorry I don’t fit into the picture you have of me, Tim. You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stalks towards his office and slams the door, dropping heavily into his chair. He puts his head into his hands. There is fear pressing against his rib cage, terror spiraling down to the core of him. He doesn’t know why Georgie dreamed of him. He doesn’t know why the world won’t just let him keep her out it. He’s not so sure in himself anymore, that he can save _anyone._

How can he already be running out of time?

When Jon finally works up enough strength to leave his office, after the assistants should have gone, he is surprised to find a cold cup of tea sitting outside his door for him.


	3. i'l be my own escape route, you know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen...i don't know what i'm doing

Jon is…he’s panicking. He’s afraid he might not have as much time as he thought he did. The only comfort is that the Eye is probably loving this, basking in it. It feels like the world is closing in on him again, rendering him _useless._ He knows that he has to get a grip on himself, has to keep up some kind of charade because the alternative is worse, always worse. Jon cannot be known, cannot be seen—not without disaster.

He’s holed up in his office since the incident, trying to make plans that he can’t see. Martin and Sasha have both tried to check in, but Jon refuses to budge. Tim leaves him alone, but Jon has caught the odd glance his way now and then. It seems, perhaps, that they were always meant to chafe each other. As long as Tim lives, Jon will be okay. So they tiptoe around each other and it honestly feels all very familiar.

The only requests Jon makes of his assistants is to take live statements and to pass along the more interesting ones to him personally, only after careful review. This is how he sustains himself. Mostly.

It’s a dull Tuesday afternoon in January when Jon finds himself in the small work kitchen. He doesn’t quite remember leaving his office, pulling out two mugs, and making tea. Perhaps it is his body’s way of forcing him to cope. The steady, familiar motions are relaxing, and Jon can feel the ache in his head just a little bit less.

Before he knows it, he has filled two mugs, each with their own specific specialties. He stares at the lighter tea, and his heart clenches so painfully it almost knocks the breath out of him. He doesn’t Know Martin is behind him, because he promised he would try not to Know Martin and it’s become practiced.

So it stands to reason that Martin’s soft, “Jon?” scares the living shit out of him.

Martin takes a step backward, clearly surprised. Jon barely manages to keep the tea from spilling. “S-Sorry, I thought you’d heard me—”

“Tea?” Jon interrupts him, holding out the tea he made for the man who is dead and still living.

Martin’s eyes widen so much it’s almost comical, but Jon can only think of how beautiful the color of them is. Martin blinks, realizing himself, “Tea—tea would be great, thank you.”

Their fingers brush when they exchange mugs and Jon can’t help the soft exhale that leaves him. Martin stares very hard at his tea and sips it slowly. His face lights up in a way that makes Jon’s chest flutter, “This is really great, Jon! Like, exactly how I like it!”

“I know,” he can’t stop himself from saying. It is something he learned from experience, knowledge that he treasured because it had not been taken. Martin glances up at him, pleased and curious.

They stand in silence that’s not really awkward, but that Jon won’t allow to be comfortable either. Finally, Martin stammers, “Cold weather, huh?”

Jon loves him so much.

“Yes,” Jon says, smiling into his tea, “Very cold.”

Martin nods, as if they are two very normal people making normal conversation. “Can’t believe it’s already the new year. Seems like it flew by, heh.”

“Quite,” Jon says, because Martin doesn’t know the half of it. “Plenty of work to do.”

Jon isn’t sure why that makes Martin’s expression flicker, but the man swallows like he’s taking a cue Jon doesn’t remember giving.

“Of course. I’ll, uh, get back to it. Thank you for the tea, Jon.” Martin turns to leave, and it does not escape Jon’s notice that he is cradling the mug as if it were something precious.

“My pleasure,” Jon whispers when Martin is out of sight.

* * *

Jon knows that he can be a little reckless. It’s not like it’s going to stop him, though. So he chooses a tunnel entrance near the tube and disappears inside it. For all the power Jon has now, it only helps him a little bit with the disorientation. But it feels good, to know that Elias will not be able to watch him. It feels less good that Jonah’s body is also down here, but Jon is trying not to think about it.

He walks for a bit until he has no indication of where to go next. So he begins to shout, “Leitner! Show yourself! I know you’re here!”

Jon Knows he waits for seventy-three minutes before Leitner finally heeds his call. The man is just as fragile and pathetic as he was before, but at the very least, he no longer bears the marks of brutal pipe murder. Stone grinds and shifts around them until there is some semblance of privacy.

“Who are you?” Leitner asks, “How did you know I was down here?”

“I am the Archivist,” Jon says, and Leitner looks surprised.

“I’m shielded,” Leitner says, “You should not have been able to Know where I was, regardless.”

“About that,” Jon says, “Could you tell me more? I’m looking for a way to shield myself from Elias. I know the properties of the tunnels, but it’s not a permanent solution.”

“It sounds like,” Leitner says slowly, “you know enough already, Archivist.”

“I’ve never known enough,” Jon laughs bitterly. He decides to risk it. “I’ve come all the way from the future and I still don’t know what I need to. That’s why I’m coming to you. Gertrude trusted you and I’m hoping you can trust me.”

This time Leitner laughs, “Gertrude did not trust _anybody.”_

Jon sighs impatiently. Leitner says, “You’ll have to explain a bit more, I’m afraid.”

“I am not just the Archivist, I am the Archive as well. Gertrude knew…she knew what Elias would try to do. Let’s just say he succeeded. But I’m going to stop him. I have to. You knew Gertrude’s plans, helped her. Her tapes can only say so much.” There is an odd sensation in his chest, as if he’s just let loose some building pressure. “Can you…will you help me?”

Leitner regards him for a moment. The silence is strained, until finally Leitner exhales and seems to hunch just a bit. “I do not know how much help I can provide you. What do you need to know?”

Jon hesitates, trying to organize his thoughts, “I need to know if there’s a way I can sever the ties between Elias and my assistants. I don’t want to see them harmed.”

“I doubt you have much choice in the matter of them being harmed if they’re archival assistants,” Leitner muses, “but Gertrude thought that causing harm to the Archive would weaken Elias. I imagine that would also apply to any bond he has over the assistants, although…”

“What?” Jon asks, swallowing thickly.

“It was not the death of the previous director that allowed the assistants to leave, was it? It was the death of the Archivist.” Leitner says regretfully.

“Me?” Jon blinks, “I mean, I assumed I would need to die, of course, but not for…not for that. I can’t be tied to them! I don’t _want_ to keep them here!”

The way Leitner looks at him leaves a slimy feeling twisting around in his guts.

“I don’t.” Jon insists and then decides, “What about shielding myself from Elias? Do you know anything about that?”

“There were certainly books in my library that could make a person disappear…be forgotten…camouflage…but I can’t speak to their effectiveness against an Avatar of the Eye, one as old as Elias especially.” Leitner tilted his head as he thought.

“Great. So no help then.” Jon is beginning to feel bitter. He’d hoped Leitner could offer some way to counter any of the numerous threats Jon was finding himself faced with. But he was reminded, once more, of just how _normal_ and _old_ the man was. Perhaps Leitner was not so different from Jonah, both striving to be alive without actually living.

“Hang on a moment,” Leitner says, and he sounds almost offended. “Are you sure that you’re not already shielded?”

“How do you mean?” Jon asks, curious.

“As I understood it, the things that Elias can _know_ are clearest to him when they have to do with fear. Those are the thoughts that come easiest to him, the ones that he looks for. You mentioned earlier that Gertrude was shielded, but perhaps that was because of how she was. She did not fear most things—she couldn’t afford to. I imagine it left little for Elias to see, especially if there were things she didn’t want him to. Avatars of the Eye…their minds are practically their temples, I would imagine. I don’t suppose that you could block _everything_ from Elias, but perhaps the important things, if you _really_ wanted to.”

Jon blinks, digesting the information. He thinks back to last time—had he ever really tried to keep Elias out? Perhaps for their plan during the Unknowing, but otherwise he’d just…accepted that Elias was always going to be in his head. He’d never thought to think otherwise. “That…that might actually make sense.”

“I try,” Leitner sighs, but he looks satisfied.

Jon is feeling a little better now. “There’s something else…do you think you could help me find Gertrude’s body?”

* * *

When Jon emerges from the tunnels, tape clutched securely in hand, he decides to return to his flat, if only for a change of clothes and a shower. He tries to tamp down his fears on the way, though that is a little harder to do now that the sun has set. It feels almost unfamiliar, the path that his feet are taking him. He concentrates on trying to hide his whereabouts from Elias, imagining them behind the door holding back the universe he has once feared. He hopes its enough.

A car starts just as Jon reaches the steps of his flat, and he can’t help but glance backward. It is nothing to worry over, but he thinks perhaps the figure half-cloaked in darkness may be. He wonders about confronting them, before his mind helpfully supplies that it is Tim. That makes him frown, just a bit. It’s not that Tim doesn’t trust him. It just makes Jon ache, to be on the other side of paranoia now. He doesn’t want to see Tim consumed.

He enters his flat, leaving Tim to think he’s doing a good job of hiding. It is harmless, for now.

The inside of his home…it swells a strange emptiness inside of him. It doesn’t look lived in, and Jon _knows_ what that looks like now. Perhaps, in another world, this flat could have looked lived in, could have been a _home_ to him and…well.

Jon hangs his coat and slips off his shoes. He takes a shower, letting the water burn him until his skin is too bright to see any of the scars that lurk underneath. He’s still not sure if they’re really there. He takes time to observe himself in the mirror. His hair is much shorter than it’s been in a long time, swept back to the side and there is only an errant grey hair here and there. Stubble coats the lower half of his face, but he leaves it the way it is. Martin had once indicated that he liked it better that way.

After his shower, Jon settles on his sofa. He lets his eyes close and he sees the safe house in Scotland. He imagines stepping inside, into the place that had once felt so _safe._ Martin is…he’s there, but not there. It doesn’t matter. Jon tells him everything—all of the things he doesn’t want Elias to know and a few things that Jon would never tell another soul. Even his imaginary Martin fights Jon at the idea of sacrificing himself, but that Martin would never win, not when there was still one Jon could keep alive.

It hurts, but…in a good way. He kisses Martin goodbye and Martin presses his hands to his chest, above his heart. Jon hesitates at the threshold of the front door, but Martin nods him ahead. Jon lets the door close behind him, and he Knows its locked and he Knows that Martin will keep it safe.

Jon lets himself cry, just for a little while, just until he can breathe again. Then he rises from his sofa and begins to rummage around for paper and a pen. He gathers everything he needs on his table and sits to begin to compose a letter. He’s not sure who he should address it to.

Basira…she had been the first one to help him, though it wasn’t quite trust. She’d once threatened to _put him down_ , so he knows that she could help him with this too. But Daisy…Jon knows it’s a little unfair, but he likes Daisy better. Daisy had _understood_ what it meant to feel like a monster, had known how hard it was to change. And she’d done it anyway: opened up and shared a part of herself that Jon knew many others did not get to see. He knows that she is not the same here, but maybe she could be. She deserves the benefit of the doubt.

So he takes a deep breath and writes:

_Daisy,_

_I know you do not know me and have no reason to trust me. I must ask, for the sake of justice, that you hear me out. The world is full of monsters, as you know, and I happen to work for one of them. He murdered my predecessor and intends on leaving many others to suffer at his hand. While it may seem more sensible to go to the police in a more open manner, I assure you that Elias Bouchard has eyes everywhere and I know that will not stop him. I am hoping that you will help me, given that you have full operational discretion as a Sectioned officer. I have enclosed a recording of Elias committing the act for you to review. I hope that this will provide enough evidence that I am not lying to you and can provide more if you wish it. I want to keep Elias from hurting more people and I know you can help me do that. Regardless of your decision, please destroy this letter._

_Yours,_

_Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute_

* * *

It is a rare day where snow blankets a lot of the city, and it startles Jon. Snow means it winter, means that it is close to be what he believes to be a pivotal point in the timeline. He practically flies to the Institute, anxious to be there before anyone else. The lights are still half-dim when he arrives, shivering because he hadn’t thought to bring a heavy enough coat, if he even owned one.

He scans over the desks of his assistants, looking for the statement that will cause them so much trouble. Of course, he finds it on Martin’s desk, under a thin pile of research. The statement of Carlos Vittery.

Jon considers just stuffing the statement away, but it looks as if Martin has already reviewed it at least once. Something in Jon’s chest twists, because he Knows Martin is desperate to please him, unaware that he already does. He takes the statement back to his own desk and waits for the assistants to amble in. Jon is so anxious that he calls Martin’s name before the man can even fully sit down. He wishes that he hadn’t seen the momentary flash of panic on Martin’s face.

“Have a seat, Martin,” Jon says, unable to keep from tapping his fingers on his desk.

Martin immediately notices. “Everything alright?”

“I just wanted to discuss…” Jon clears his throat, “…your work?”

“Oh?” Martin says, his voice a bit high.

Jon nods, “As you recall, I’ve suspended field work? I just want to reiterate that I still find doing so completely necessary.”

“Of course,” Martin says, seeming to relax a little bit. “It’s a bit cold out there anyhow, isn’t it?”

“I also wanted to let you know that I’ve been personally tasked with researching the statement of Carlos Vittery. There’s no reason for you to be looking into it any further, alright?” Jon means it to be reassuring, but Martin’s face falls.

“Is something wrong with the work I’ve been doing?” Martin asks, and Jon hates the resignation he can hear in Martin’s voice.

“Far from it,” Jon says, “Your work has been exemplary. This is just a special case. Not the only one, I’m afraid. I may have to see Sasha as well.”

“Oh,” Martin says, and he looks a little dazed. He comes back to himself quickly, “You might have to wait a bit on Sasha, she was looking into something in Artifact Storage today. She thought something she’d come across might’ve been related to one of her cases.”

“What.” Jon says, his fingers freezing.

“Jon?” Martin asks curiously.

Panic is rising in Jon’s throat so all he can choke out is, “Get back to work, Martin.” He stands hastily, ignoring Martin’s confusion. He strides down the hall, breaking into a run once he knows he’s out of sight. All he can this is _no, no, no, no._

Jon must scare the receptionist half to death. The young man actually yelps, but he points Jon toward Sasha anyway.

“Sasha!” Jon shouts breathlessly.

She turns slowly, confused. But whole. Not familiar in a way that is good. “Jon?”

“I…why are you in here?” Jon practically demands, and just manages to keep from glancing around the room.

“I work here?” She responds, a little haughtily. “Honestly, what’s gotten into you?”

“It’s just…this place is dangerous,” Jon says, and this time he does glance around. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“You know I worked in this wing before, right? I _know_ what this is place is like. I’m not a child,” she says sternly.

“No, I know,” Jon says lamely, swallowing, “I just…it’s silly really. I had a bad dream. I was afraid it would come true.”

“Since when do you believe what you see in a dream, Mr. Skeptic?” Sasha asks, mostly good naturedly.

“Stranger things have happened,” he mutters, and takes a deep breath, “I apologize.”

He notices her fingers tighten around the paperwork in her hand, but she just nods. Jon keeps his eyes on her the entire time he walks out of the room and then demands to know the status of the table.

Shipped.

Gone.

Jon’s knees actually feel week. It can’t have been that easy.

* * *

“We’ve got to look into that statement,” Tim says, sitting on Martin’s desk. “There’s got to be a reason he doesn’t want us to know about it.”

“Or maybe,” Martin sighs, “you just need a good night’s rest? You’ve been awfully…paranoid lately, Tim. Jon hasn’t _done_ anything.”

“You’re biased,” Tim rolls his eyes.

“B-Biased?” Martin stutters, cheeks beginning to bloom scarlet against his wishes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Tim doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he hops of Martin’s desk and begins to rifle through it, “Did you write down any of the details?”

“Tim!” Martin says, batting at the man, “Of course, I wrote down details! But I don’t…I don’t think you should have them. You’re freaking me out.”

Tim freezes and then takes a deep breath, sounding much calmer when he responds, “Listen, Martin. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I just want to check it out. I’ll even bring, Sash, alright? You know she won’t let me do anything too bad. I just…it would make me feel better to know. I’m sorry for being a bit weird about it.”

Martin softens, moving his hand after a moment to reveal the notes he’d taken about Carlos Vittery’s statement. “Just… _promise_ me you’ll cut it out with all the crazy stuff if you don’t find anything, okay?”

“I promise,” Tim says, but his smile is showing too much teeth.


	4. if this is how i go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little short this time unfortunately. probably only one or two chapters left.

“Tim,” Sasha hisses, her arms wrapped tight around herself, “Are we done, yet?”

“No,” Tim hisses back, seemingly oblivious to the cold. “There’s got to be _something_ here.”

“Does there?” Sasha asks, her irritation bleeding through. “Or do you just want to be right? I swear, you sound more like Jon than Jon does these days.”

Tim sends her a withering look and returns to working at the hinge of a basement window. It’s barely cresting evening, and Sasha has no intention of staying here past dark. She wonders about trying the buzzers again, even though they haven’t seen anyone enter or leave the building. She looks around, half keeping an eye for anyone that might spot them and half just to tamp down her boredom.

She’s not stupid. She knows that Jon hasn’t been exactly right since he had that fall. But honestly, it seems like none of them have. Tim has certainly got some suspicion rooted in him, something that’s taken precedence over his other work.

She can’t…she can’t exactly blame him. She knows about his brother; about what Tim thinks he saw. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in the supernatural, but…from her experience, there is rarely any closure. The supernatural strikes out at bizarre and random moments, picks victims without much premeditation and moves on. She doesn’t think there’s much for Tim to find, is probably the best way to put it. She thinks that it’s been so long that maybe he’s willing to blame anything that seems a little solid, even if that means the boss he’d previously been able to coexist with.

Sasha sighs, watching the way her breath coils in the air. If she were hard-pressed, she’d have to admit that she doesn’t feel right either. Something keeps nagging at her, a tug in her bones that wants her to find…something. She doesn’t think she wants to know what, which is strange. Normally her thirst for knowledge is what drives her, is what’s gotten her this far. She’d stayed in Artifact Storage for _three_ months, hadn’t she?

“Got it!” Tim cheers quietly, leaning back on his haunches as he eases the window open. When he looks at her, he looks almost like his old self. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Sasha raises her eyebrows at him, “This is your mission, which means you commit the crime before I do.”

“And they say chivalry’s dead,” Tim grins, but begins to readjust himself to fit through the window. It takes a moment of awkward shimmying before Tim disappears and she hears a soft yelp.

“Tim?”

“All good!” he says, though it’s a bit breathless, “Just watch yourself. There’s a bit of a drop.”

Sasha shakes her head but drops to her hands and knees, trying to lower herself in on her stomach. Just before she crests the lip of the window, a flash of something silver catches her eye on the ground. Odd.

She has to resist the urge to cover her nose once she’s in the basement. “Ugh, stinks, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tim says, already peering around, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a light on you?”

“Are you kidding?” she says, fondness and irritation bubbling inside of her. She doesn’t wait for answer, pulling out her phone and tapping the flashlight button.

“You’re a champ,” Tim smiles. He takes a step few steps forward, “We’ve just got to find the stairs.”

The basement is huge, like it spans across the space of the whole building. She shines her light slowly, trying to navigate the shelves while Tim removes a pad and MI branded pen from his coat pocket. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Is it…is it me or does it feel _bad_ in here?” Tim asks softly.

“Bad because you’re breaking and entering and might be caught?” she responds lightly, even though she knows exactly what he means.

The further they get, the darker it seems to become, although that’s not quite right. It feels like her light is fighting to stay as bright as it should be, wavering around the edges. The back of her neck prickles.

There is a wet popping sound and Tim practically jumps into her, his pen clattering to the floor. “Ugh,” he scoffs, looking at the bottom of his shoe, “What the hell is that?”

There a silvery black bug looking thing on the ground, splattered by Tim. It’s the same color as what she’d seen outside. She redirects her beam to the floor, finds small silver worms here and there. Tim keeps a hand on her arm.

“Look,” he points, “There’s the stairs. Let’s go.”

She nods but doesn’t move. There is a spot beyond the stairs that seems to consume the light of her flashlight, almost like a solid mass. That gross musty smell is stronger. Her feet step toward it involuntarily, curious to find out the reason why.

A fat, silver spider teeters its way out of the darkness and that is what brings her back to herself. Vittery had seen spiders.

“Tim,” her voice is flat, “We have to go.”

“What?”

“Now.” Her voice does not leave room for argument.

* * *

Jon isn’t sure if his walks are a good thing. He’s certainly used to it, after all that he and Martin had done, but the point of them is to feed a sick curiosity. He wanders without thinking but seems to always end up at certain points that were once domains. The building where he’d killed Jude Perry stands strong and unscorched, a few windows lit here and there. Jared’s garden is a parking lot, overpriced and almost disturbingly barren.

Perhaps this is like a snack for the Watcher, to see the ordinary places that will become eruptions of fear, to see the unsuspecting people that will be used as fuel. Jon will take it if it means not actively seeking out people to retraumatize.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise when Jon is tugged sharply into an alleyway, thrown unceremoniously to the ground. He almost smiles when he realizes that his throat hurts. “Daisy,” he says, and he really can’t keep the fondness, the relief, out of his voice.

She stands over him, towering and threatening with her arms crossed. Her hair is cropped shorter than the last time he’d seen her, and her eyes are _brighter._ “You’ve got explaining to do,” she snarls.

“Naturally,” Jon nods, scooting himself up so that he is leaning against the brick wall of a building. “Where would you like me to start?”

She’s staring at his throat, but he’s not afraid of her—has spent more time fearing _for_ her, honestly. He knows that he should let her think she has the upper hand, but he’s not sure how he’s supposed to do that. “Why did you seek me out? There are plenty of Sectioned officers you could have gone to.”

He’s not really sure how to answer that. “I suppose…I could have. But I knew that you would get the job done. I feared Basira would hesitate—”

He’s not prepared for the hand suddenly at his throat, or to be scraped up the side of the wall. “I figured that this was some sort of trap,” Daisy says, “I thought you’d be smart, play dumb enough that I’d let you go. But for all you seem to know, you’re not that smart, I guess.”

“Daisy,” he struggles to get the words out, “I’m not a threat to you. Let me—explain.”

Her fingers tighten for a moment, but then loosen, and his feet touch the ground again. “Yes, I know a lot. More than you could imagine. I know you could kill me, of course. I’m sort of planning on it! But there other things that have to be done first, done right.”

“What’s to keep me from just killing you and then going after you boss? You said he’s the problem already,” She grins, predatory.

“You could,” Jon reasons, “but I’m not sure that would keep Basira safe.”

“Is that a threat?” she snarls, shoving him hard into the brick.

“No,” Jon says, “and I know you won’t believe me, but I want…I want to keep all of you safe. If I wanted to cock things up, I could’ve gone after Elias myself. But I need you there, just in case.”

Daisy is breathing roughly as she considers him. “You know,” she mocks, “You know, you know. But I don’t think you do.”

“You want me to prove it?” He says tiredly, “Fine. Your name is Alice Tonner, but you go by Daisy because of the scar on your back. Your partner is Basira and you love her, something you don’t often feel. Sometimes it’s the only thing you’ve got over the rush of your blood, the insistence of it. You don’t always want to listen to your blood, but it feels so good that you can’t help it. But you’re not…you’re not a monster. You don’t have to be. I _know_ you don’t, because I’ve seen you when the blood is quiet. Believe it or not, we were friends. We listened to the Archers together, for Christ’s sake.”

Daisy looks…afraid. Not enough to back off of him, but he can see it in her eyes. He knows what it looks like.

“I know I don’t make sense. I know we haven’t met before, not for you. But the world is…the world is complicated, and this isn’t the first go I’ve had at it. I’m trying to make things right this time.” His voice is thick now, on the verge of tears. “There isn’t a happy ending for me, not at the Institute, not at your safehouse in Scotland. The closest I’ll get is knowing that you’re alive and so are the others.”

Daisy is quiet. “You expect me to believe that you’re from the future?”

“No,” Jon says, “I just need you to believe that I’m trying to help.”

“You think just because you…know so much about me, that I won’t kill you?”

Jon laughs, a sad, tired little thing, “Daisy, I’m counting on you to kill me.”

Her mouth twists, “Why?”

Jon’s breath stutters, comes out in a too long exhale, “I don’t…belong here. I don’t _deserve_ to be here.”

* * *

“Hello, Martin,” Elias says, scaring Martin straight out of his skin.

“E-Elias! How…how are you?” Martin feels like he’s been caught doing something wrong, though he’s just sitting at his desk. Tim and Sasha haven’t come in yet, which is odd, and Jon’s door is open, but he’s not in his office.

“I’m well, Martin. A bit concerned about Jon actually,” Elias frowns and Martin can feel his heart begin to beat harder.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I fear he’s become…distracted. I would hate to have to remove him from his position, but it just seems like he’s let his work slip.” Martin wonders why Elias is telling him any of this. The thought of Jon not being Head Archivist is something Martin can’t wrap his head around. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind talking to him. I know you two are close.”

“We are?” Martin can’t stop himself from blurting.

“I believe so. You know, the two of you remind me of myself and a dear friend. I’ve found Peter’s friendship to be quite useful over these past years, though we were far from friends at the start. I rather think you would like Peter, actually.” Elias smiles and it sends a jolt of terror straight down Martin’s spine.

“I—” Martin swallows, “I’ll talk to Jon, I guess. I think he’s just a bit tired.”

“I hope so,” Elias nods, “Anyhow, thank you for the indulgence, Martin. Be seeing you.”

Martin waits until Elias has been gone for at least five minutes before he bolts, almost desperate to find Jon. Something about the way Elias had said his name, it just…it worried Martin. He checks with Rosie, and then Jon’s office, and then the kitchen, and then in the actual Archives itself. He’s so desperate that he practically runs into Jon.

Jon’s hands shoot out, wrapping around Martin’s, steadying him. He looks concerned, “Martin!”

“Jon,” Martin breathes, trying to regulate the drum in his chest, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Are you alright?” Jon says, and the way he looks, like he _cares—_

“I-I’ve just seen Elias,” Martin explains. He isn’t really surprised by the way Jon’s lips thin, “He was, um, kind of weird?”

Jon seems to be picking his words carefully, “Did he…mention something to upset you?”

Martin is finally calming, and he begins to explain, “I don’t know, he just—well, first he surprised me. Started talking about how he was worried about you, thought your work was slipping. He said he might have to, like, demote you or something because you were so distracted.”

Jon actually laughs, and Martin finds that it causes his stomach to flutter. “Elias…Elias couldn’t get rid of me if he wanted to. I am concerned that he approached you about it. You shouldn’t have to worry over these things.”

“Uh, okay?” Martin hates how confused he sounds, like he’s not in on the joke, “It was just weird. I didn’t like how he talked about—about you. He mentioned his friend, Peter—”

The rate at which Jon becomes tense, distressed, is alarming. His voice is still careful, only in a different way now. “He mentioned a friend to you?”

Martin fidgets, “He said he thought I would get on with his friend Peter. That…he and I were alike.”

Jon’s jaw is clenched so hard, it must hurt. Martin finds himself wishing that the Jon from a second ago, the one that had laughed, was still with him. Jon looks down and his eyes widen almost comically, realizing he is still holding Martin’s hands. He pulls them away as if they burn, and Martin isn’t sure if he can keep the hurt off his face.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon says, and he is furious, “I’ll take care of Elias. Just focus on your work.”

Jon stalks off without waiting for a response, leaving Martin standing alone in the hallway, swallowing thickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mind me, i'm just putting on my clown shoes while i hope that jon will be able to save daisy from whatever the Hunt has done to her.


	5. these monsters i hold, i'm bringing them home

Jon knows that he’s acting irrationally. Elias had wanted to push Jon’s buttons, of that much he is sure. It was practically the man’s favorite pastime, wasn’t it? Still, it needles at Jon, makes him anxious to _do_ something. So he grabs his coat and storms past Tim and Sasha, barely giving them a glance. Perhaps if he wasn’t in such a mood, he’d have noticed the unnaturally tense silence.

He makes it a few paces outside the door before he realizes that his arms are beginning to itch. Not his arms—the worm scars. When Jon glances up from his skin, his gaze lands exactly where it needs to be. Half-hidden in an alley down the block, there is woman with dirty black hair, staring right back at him. Her mouth cracks into a smile and she holds up a pen.

The anger seeps out of Jon so quickly that it almost makes him dizzy. When Jon blinks, Jane Prentiss is gone, but he knows that it won’t be forever. There is a strange numbness, a sort of grief working its way into his chest. He’d made sure to tell Martin to stay _away_ , had kept the statement secure. Things should have changed. In the back of his mind, he knows that they did. He just hadn’t considered that…that they wouldn’t change for the better.

Jon walks back into the Institute in a daze, stopping only when he reaches the pen where his assistants work. The three of them seem to be arguing over something. Jon doesn’t care, because he Knows suddenly that Tim and Sasha went to that basement.

“What have you done?” He says, his voice full of grief. All three of the voices stop and turn to stare at him. “I can’t…”

“Why didn’t you tell us about what was in that basement?” Tim demands, “You knew!”

_You know, you know, you know, Daisy mocks._

“If we’d known…” Sasha says.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Jon says, and he Knows that its true. “I thought…”

“You thought what? _Lying_ to us would keep us safe? That thing was _out_ there, Jon!” Tim’s voice is pitchy, upset.

“I asked you not to go,” Jon says quietly. “I asked you to leave it. I thought, perhaps you stalking me was enough, that it would satisfy you.”

“You were _stalking_ Jon?” Martin asks, disbelief coloring his voice. Sasha looks unsurely at Tim.

“I was!” Tim admits, “I knew he was up to something, so I-I had to. I was afraid that he’d become something, or I don’t know…”

“Tim,” Jon says, tired, “You won’t have to worry about it soon, alright? I…I’ve got to go get a few things. All of you, _stay here._ The Institute should offer you enough protection until I return.”

“Jon? Jon, where are you going?” Martin’s voice sounds very small, and he Knows that Martin is afraid.

“I’ve got to get some fire extinguishers,” Jon says robotically, turning to leave without another word.

Jon’s absence leaves a heavy silence, wary eyes glancing from coworker to coworker as if they are something worse. Tim is the first to break the silence. “We have to find out what else he’s hiding.”

Sasha throws him a sharp look, “Will you quit it? Do you not remember that nosing around got us almost killed just last night?”

“We almost got killed because Jon didn’t tell us—” Tim starts.

“No!” Sasha explodes, “Jon didn’t _want_ us to go there! We were being stupid, _you’re_ being stupid!”

Neither of them pays any mind to Martin as they argue. His steps are almost automatic as they bring him closer to Jon’s office. There is something…it feels like he needs to be in here. His coworkers’ argument sounds distant. There is a tape recorder on Jon’s desk, curiously running even though no one’s been in here. Martin picks his way over to it, finger hovering over the button to stop the recording.

He presses it.

His eye is drawn to one of Jon’s drawers, wedged slightly open. There is a spider sat on the lip of it, and Martin swears that its staring at him. The spider scuttles into the drawer and Martin vaguely remembers that Jon hates spiders. He bends down to open the drawer, peering inside for the spider.

There isn’t much inside the drawer. The thing that stands out the most is a tape labeled: Statement of the Archive.

Martin pulls it out carefully, examining it. He knows Jon’s handwriting when he sees it. He knows that Jon is hiding something. He thinks that this tape has some answers.

Martin ejects the tape that had been recording nothing and inserts the one he found. He sinks into Jon’s chair as he presses play, heart thumping against his chest.

“Statement of the Archivist, straight from subject, regarding…the future and the past.”

* * *

Jon is only a little surprised to see that Daisy has brought along Basira. She looks pretty much the same, but not quite so serious, so tired. Jon still finds himself wanting to reach out to her, but he doesn’t. “You sure about this?” Daisy nods toward the case full of CO2 extinguishers Jon had requested.

Jon nods, “She’s weak to them, as are the worms. A high enough volume and concentration will kill her.”

“Pretty bold to talk about killing someone in front of two police officers,” Basira remarks, her eyes sharp.

“She’s a monster,” Jon shrugs, “and its nothing your partner hasn’t done before.”

Basira’s hackles raise, but she says nothing further. Jon turns to Daisy, “We need to get these back to the Institute. Neither of you are tied to the Eye, so you shouldn’t be a target. I’ll distract Prentiss until you two can ambush her, preferably out of sight. Her body is a husk of the human she used to be, and it will still remain after she and the worms are gone.”

Daisy nods, murmuring something to Basira. Jon ignores her. He grips an extinguisher, surprised by the flood of memories it brings back. They are almost fond.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks.

“She’s here,” Daisy grins, “lurking in the tunnels like you said.”

“Good. Just…Just watch yourselves, please.” Jon can almost hear the click of the door shutting behind Sasha as she runs to warn Tim, and he grips the nozzle on the extinguisher tighter. He descends into the tunnels before he can have a chance to change his mind.

Jane Prentiss is not particularly hard to find. She leaves a trail of writhing worms and the scent of rot behind her. Jon follows them until he reaches a room that he realizes he knows—the place she planned to perform her ritual.

“Archivist,” she says, voice shredded but sounding pleased, nonetheless.

“Jane,” he nods, careful to sweep the floor for any worms that might come too close.

“I’m afraid you’re a bit early,” Jane says, “but at least you did bring food. They’ll love you.”

“I don’t plan on staying long,” Jon says, stepping a bit back toward the doorway, “I just…I wanted to talk to you, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?” She asks, cocking her head. A few worms splatter down onto the ground while others wriggle out of one hole and into another.

“I wanted to say…I wanted to say that I’m sorry. You were scared. You needed help. But you were abandoned, claimed by a filthy entity that you are destined to disappoint.” Jon swallows, “Part of me wishes that there was still something inside of you left to save, but I know better.”

Jane is staring at him, or at least, he thinks she is. Her lips twitch into a frown, though it could be the worms. “I hate you,” she whispers, and lunges.

For all that Jon knows, he had not ever thought to hone the skill of self-defense. His dodge is clumsy, and the spray from the extinguisher misses her, blanketing the ground instead. She moves with frightening speed, but she doesn’t see the two figures move into the room behind her. Basira and Daisy are much more practiced in their aim. They cover Jane’s back, forcing her to freeze as the worms inside her squealed and shrieked in pain. She turns to them, murderous.

“Her face!” Jon shouts, stomping at the worms climbing up his shoes.

Jane is too fast, pinning Basira to the wall by her throat and squeezing. Basira’s extinguisher drops to the ground. Daisy forgoes the spray, snarling as she bashes Jane’s head with the bottom of the cannister, knocking the woman sideways. Her face makes a very wet, viscous sound.

Daisy swings again, her grin sharp as she forces the woman to the ground. Jon stumbles over to Basira, snatching her extinguisher from the ground and pressing it into her hands. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Basira gasps, pushing him out of the way to get to Daisy, who is pressing her boot into Jane’s neck. The skin is offering little resistance.

“Her face!” Jon repeats, coming up on Daisy’s other side so that they form a half-circle around the struggling woman. Daisy and Basira both direct their spray into Jane’s face, following the movement as she chokes and screams. Jon focuses on showering the other worms, the ones trying to get to his friends, and the ones escaping Jane.

“Stay down,” Daisy growls, her foot moving to stomp down on Jane’s chest. The flesh there gives way with a sickening crumple, surrounding Daisy’s boot. Jane begins to convulse as the spray from their extinguishers leaks directly into her chest. After a few horrifying moments, the body is still. The worms around them begin to shrivel and some of them pop.

“Let’s go,” Jon pulls on Daisy’s shoulder, “We need to burn her.”

“I’ve got it,” Basira says, pulling a flask from her jacket and tossing the liquid around the room onto the body that once belonged to Jane Prentiss.

“Move,” Daisy says, and they all move back into the corridor outside of the room. Jon pulls out his lighter, feeling the webbed design with the pad of his thumb. He hesitates for a second before he flicks it open and tosses it inside.

“Need a hand?” A voice asks from the darkness.

Daisy whirls, her teeth already bared, but Jon throws a hand up. Jurgen Leitner steps from the shadows, a book clutched tightly in his hands.

“Who’s this?” Basira asks, “Another monster?”

* * *

The three of them trudge into the Institute, ignoring the looks from the few “normal” people that mill about. Daisy has a large duffel slung over her shoulder, full of “tools”. Jon’s not sure what he expects to find when he reaches the Archives, how he’s going to explain Daisy and Basira’s presence without meeting resistance.

It turns out there are more concerning things to worry about. The three assistants are not at their desks, but he can see the backs of Tim and Sasha in his office, sitting. Jon relaxes, only for a moment, just until he rounds the corner and catches sight of Martin’s face.

Martin sees him, and his gaze darts to Jon just long enough for the others to notice before it flicks away. Tim and Sasha turn to face him. The room is unnaturally silent, and Jon is reminded by the eerie quiet just before a storm hits. Basira and Daisy sense enough to hang back.

“Er…” Jon says.

“Are you really from the future?” Tim asks. There is no venom in his voice—it is oddly devoid of emotion. Jon doesn’t think he’s ever heard Tim sound this way.

Jon’s eyes fall to the tape recorder sitting on his desk, and it feels like the floor has dropped out from under him. He’d worried, of course, that he’d be found out. But he’d hoped that things would have been done before they’d ever have to find the tape. There is a very small part of Jon, tucked behind his heart, that almost feels relief.

“I…” Jon swallows, “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Are you suggesting that there’s a more accurate description?” Sasha asks, but its not accusatory. It sounds like she’s simply trying to _understand._

“Well,” Jon inhales, “I suppose I don’t really know. I still bear the marks of…of my experiences, though I haven’t gone through them. The scars aren’t _quite_ there though. I’m not sure if you all can even see them. At the very least, my consciousness is scarred.”

“The fall. That day you acted crazy. Was that when you…arrived?” Tim asks.

“Yes. I…I woke up at my desk as if it were years ago. It was…jarring. I never meant…I didn’t expect any of you to be here.” Jon tries to pick his words carefully.

“Because something’s happened to us. In the future.” Tim won’t let Jon get away without answers. There is some color returning to the man’s voice, as if he is waking up. “But you just wanted to, what? Hide it from us? How in the world would that help?”

“I didn’t…it was safer if you just weren’t involved,” Jon says, “I would have preferred none of you ever knowing.”

“We are involved, Jon,” Sasha says, softly, “Aren’t we?”

Jon doesn’t know what to say. He looks at Martin, who has been silent the entire time. Jon’s stomach twists when he realizes Martin won’t look at him. Jon ignores the way his voice is shaking, “I—I don’t want you to be. Right now, you all are trapped here, even if you don’t know it. Soon you’ll be free, though. You can run and never look back.”

“You’re going to kill yourself?” Martin says, his voice very soft. It sends a jolt of terror through Jon, because it sounds so terribly familiar, tainted with sea salt.

“Martin, I…” Jon starts, but he doesn’t even begin to know what the right words are. He barely did the first time around. “It’s the only way. I know you don’t, well, _know,_ but I deserve it. There was a time when half the people here would have jumped at the chance.”

“Are you…are you human, Jon?” Sasha asks.

Jon’s lips twist, “I…it’s complicated. There were some parts of me that still were before I came here, but its hard to know with what’s happened. Probably…probably not.”

A strangled laugh bursts out of Tim, slightly manic. All eyes shift to him. “So our boss is a monster. Cool. Great. Our monster boss wants to stop us from dying without telling us, letting us wander into dangerous situations, letting us fucking…”

“Tim…” Jon flinches, “I know that you may disagree with my methods—”

“Fuck you, Jon,” Tim spits, “Do you know how much I’ve worried? How could you just let me think—”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought,” Jon says.

Tim blinks at him, dangerously, “Excuse me?”

“You can hate me, Tim,” Jon says, “You can blame me. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter what you feel about me as long as you’re alive and you stay that way.”

Tim blinks, a little stunned. Jon is sure that they must be able to hear the pounding of his heart in the ensuing silence.

Sasha’s voice is almost a whisper when she asks, “Will you tell us?”

“Trust me when I say you don’t want to know,” Jon almost begs, “Things…our lives were horribly out of control.”

“How are we—how are we supposed to avoid the future if we don’t know what to watch out for?” She asks, “Especially if you plan on…if you’re not around.”

“You said you owe me an explanation,” Tim says, and his voice is quiet again. “I think you owe _all_ of us an explanation.” Martin flinches.

“I…” Jon looks around at them helplessly. He Knows that they will not let him go. “Fine. Fine. But first…”

Jon steps out into the hallway, where Daisy and Basira do not even pretend that they weren’t listening. “You’d better come in as well.”

They all pile into Jon’s office. Life flickers into Martin at the sight of Basira and Daisy, and he moves closer to Tim and Sasha. Jon clears his throat, “There are…Robert Smirke surmised that there are fourteen entities that manifest in our reality as what we consider fears. Some people are victims of these entities and some are considered…avatars. They sort of facilitate the fear—become nonhuman. Some…perhaps they all choose to lose their humanity, but that may be simply because there seems like there isn’t another choice. The Magnus Institute is a—a temple of sorts for the Beholding. Everyone that works here is tied to it—is tied to the heart of the Institute, Elias Bouchard. Or well…that’s one of his names at least. These avatars, they perform rituals in the hopes of bringing their patron into this reality. The Unknowing, the one I mentioned on the tape, that’s the ritual of the Stranger—the fear that took your brother.

“The problem…the logic behind these rituals is flawed. Elias…Elias had a theory. He exposed me to all of the entities, no matter the cost, as a sort of experiment. This…wreaked havoc on our workplace, as you can imagine. Things became very unpleasant, things…happened. Bad things. But there came a point where—where I thought maybe we could be okay, that we had some _time…”_ Jon laughs, knowing it sounds like a sob. “Elias wasn’t through with me. The world…the world was changed, plunged into—into _fear_. Things became meaningless: sleep, hunger, thirst…

“I didn’t know that I would…that time travel was even possible. I just wanted…I was so very tired of hurting people.” Jon finishes tiredly.

“You said these people are tied to your Boss?” Basira asks, arms folded across her chest.

“Yes…” Jon exhales, “Elias always intonated that harming him would harm those that worked here, but…but others theorized that he could be weakened first. The tether, if it exists at all, should be loosened enough for everyone to escape without being killed. Once, Mar—we burned some of the statements and Elias did not seem to like that.”

“How strong could Elias possibly be?” Tim asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Stronger…stronger than you think,” Jon says, leaving no room for argument.

“E-Explain these two,” Martin says, pointing a thumb over at Basira and Daisy.

“At one point, Elias framed me for murder and they were investigating it…well, a lot happened. They both joined the Institute,” Jon’s voice wavered, “though there wasn’t much of a choice at the time.”

“What do we do now?” Sasha asks.

“You…you leave,” Jon says. “I’m going to handle things with the help of Daisy. I need the rest of you to be far, far away.”

“Jon…” Sasha says.

“I think we should go,” Tim says. “It’s not like any of us are monsters. Let the police handle it.”

Jon ignores the jab and lets his gaze drift to his hands. They’re shaking. Martin used to cradle them in his own hands when they got like this. “Please,” Jon says, whisper soft, “Don’t make me lose you all again. Just let me do this.”

The room is quiet. Minutes pass as glances are exchanged until, finally, Tim stands. He offers his hand to Sasha and after a beat, she takes it. Basira nods to Daisy and the two of them return to the corridor. When Jon looks up from his hands, Martin is standing in front of him. His face is twisted with misery and confusion and indecision. Jon wants to smooth it away.

“Jon,” he says unsteadily.

“Martin,” Jon says softly.

“Those things you said…about me…” Martin swallows, “Did you really love me?”

“I do love you,” Jon says against his better judgement, “I’ll always love you, Martin. But I…I never deserved to have you and I certainly don’t now. The most I can do…the most I can do is make sure that you get out of this mess.”

Martin’s hands are shaking too now, “That’s why you were acting so weird—how you knew how I liked my tea.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand,” Martin swallows, “why the solution here is your death. I don’t—I don’t think that’s quite fair. There has to be…”

“Martin,” Jon sighs, reaching across his desk to cover one of Martin’s hands, “This world isn’t safe with me in it— _you’re_ not safe. I have seen the misery and the loneliness and the frustration that I’ve caused you. I’ve lost you…so many times at this point. I can’t—I won’t let it happen again.”

“And what about what we lose?” Martin says, an undercurrent of heat in his voice.

“Just another monster,” Jon smiles, sad and small.

“That—” Martin begins. He is interrupted by a rapping against the door frame.

“Knock knock,” Jon’s grip tightens of Martin’s hand automatically. “Hello, Jon,” Elias says from his place in the doorway, smile sharp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im fairly certain this won't have a happy ending


	6. but my dreams, they aren't as empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've always pictured a fight between elias and jon looking like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIIjCNFS5Wg (spoilers for legion if u care. context is that its two telepaths fighting if u don't)

Jon is certain his heart jumps into throat at the sight of Elias— _Jonah._ In the frozen moment before anyone can react, Jon is acutely aware of the ticking of the clock in his office. He knows quite suddenly that he is out of time—this is it.

Martin stares at Elias with wide eyes, hand still secured by Jon. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Elias demurs, blocking the doorway. For all the knowing and the planning and the worrying, Jon finds himself very unsure of what to do. He’d thought he’d be able to plan, to instruct Basira on how to destroy the Archives.

Martin glances at Jon, the fear plain on his face and this is what spurs Jon into action. “What do you want?” He pulls his hand from Martin’s and stands, tense.

“I’m actually quite proud of you,” Elias says, “I had an inkling, of course, but whatever you did to shield yourself…very impressive, I must say. I’m afraid you let your fears get the better of you.” Elias chuckles, “Don’t mistake me, of course. I’m _delighted.”_

“You shouldn’t be,” Jon says through gritted teeth, moving so that he is closer to Elias than Martin is. “You’re the one who should be afraid, Jonah.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Martin blinks.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Elias sighs, “but there’s really no need for charades anymore, is there? Look at you, Jon—my _Archive._ I hadn’t dared to hope you’d take to it so _well.”_

Elias’s tone sends shivers down Jon’s spine, and he catches Martin gulp out of the corner of his eyes. Jon lets his hand drift to a paperweight on his desk, trying to be subtle, “It doesn’t matter what I am. I won’t be a participant in the Watcher’s Crown.”

“Is that so?” Elias says, just before a terrifyingly loud sound rings around the room. Elias glances down at his chest, at the circular rumple of clothes around a bullet wound. He looks very unimpressed.

“Get the fuck down!” Daisy growls, and she must do something, because suddenly Elias is stumbling forward, into the room and out of the doorway.

“Is this really necessary?” Elias asks, albeit a bit winded. “If you _Know_ me, Jon, then you know how I can hurt them.”

Jon is breathing heavily, and he lets his fingers wrap around the leaden paperweight, “You won’t get the chance.”

Things happen very fast after that. Daisy, who had been circling around Elias like a shark to prey, suddenly gasps with a faraway look in her eyes. Elias is surprisingly nimble and jumps to his feet quickly, smiling as if he’s not been inconvenienced. Jon rushes forward in a feeble attempt to bash the paperweight against the back of Elias’s head, but it only causes the man to stumble into Basira, who stumbles back into the frame of the door. Her eyes clear as her head knocks against it, and her face contorts into something bestial.

“N-Not yet!” Jon shouts, “We have to destroy the Archives first!”

Elias is steadying himself, just a hair out of place. His eye twitches, and there is barely a speck of blood on his shirt, the wound already healed. Daisy’s eyes rove over him, calculating, before she nods. “I’m going to enjoy killing you,” she huffs at Elias, grin wide. “Basira!”

Basira swings into the room, her weapon at the ready. She does not hesitate before she fires three shots into Elias—neck, chest, chest. The man jerks backward, almost knocking into Martin, who jumps out of the way. Elias’s fists are clenching and unclenching and there is a gurgling sound that Jon Knows is a laugh.

“Go, you’ve got to go,” Jon urges them toward the door as Elias gasps, his lungs working to reform themselves. “Pull the fire alarm and then set fire to anything and everything. The more the better.”

Daisy and Basira share a look before they begin to back out, never turning their backs to the room. “We’ll take care of it,” Basira says.

Jon looks desperately at Martin, aiming a wayward kick at Elias’s ribs when it looks like he’s beginning to stabilize. “Martin, you’ve got to leave.”

They stare at each other. Martin clenches his fist and shakes his head, “I’m not leaving you.”

Jon opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by Elias’s broken voice, “S-Such loyalty to some—one so u-undeserving.”

“We have to go,” Jon says before he can stop himself. All he can think about is putting enough space between Martin and Elias.

“You—can’t—h-hide from—me,” Elias pants, rising to his knees, “I—see— _everything.”_

“I’m not hiding,” Jon sneers, “I plan on paying you a visit.”

“No,” Elias snarls, “I won’t let—”

“Shut up!” Martin spits, and this time he is the one to kick Elias, knocking the man off balance.

* * *

Daisy and Basira fly from Jon’s office, snatching up Daisy’s duffle and dropping it onto one of the desks. They begin to rifle through its contents, pulling out what they need.

Daisy nearly knocks Tim’s teeth out when he speaks from too close behind them, “How can we help?”

“Didn’t your boss tell you to leave?” Daisy snaps, picking up a flare gun and examining it.

There is a snort, and Basira glances at the two assistants. Sasha has a hand on her hip and she’s looking determined. “We’re not just going to stand by while—while you all stop the end of the world.”

Basira does not argue. Instead she says, “Pull the fire alarms and then get as many people out of here as you can. Stay away from the Archives.”

“Do you even know how to navigate the Archives?” Sasha scoffs, “We should come with you. “You’ll just slow us down,” Daisy grunts.

“At least give us weapons in case we run into Elias,” Tim says, “since I’m guessing he won’t be too happy about this.”

“He won’t be,” Basira says, but lets them gather closer to the table. Tim grabs a fire axe, testing the weight in his hands. Sasha considers the table for a minute before moving to her own desk and retrieving pepper spray. Daisy raises an eyebrow at her.

“He’s all about eyes, isn’t he?” Sasha says.

Daisy’s lips twitch, a split-second smirk. “Don’t be stupid. Be fast. Alright?”

Tim salutes her, “Got it. Godspeed.”

Basira just rolls her eyes and gathers her tools. She and Basira head toward the Archives, leaving Tim and Sasha by their desks. “Just to be clear,” Tim says, a finger to the edge of his blade, “We’re not going to let them kill Jon, right?”

“Course not,” Sasha grimaces, readjusting her hold on her pepper spray.

“Alright,” Tim nods, and then he grins, “Race you.”

The Archives are dusty, dry, and mundane. It’s bit messy, stacks of papers and files here and there. Daisy doesn’t thing it looks much like the site of the end of the world, but she’d seen the way that thing had taken bullets. It’s not going to escape here.

Daisy begins to spread her lighter fluid, but Basira stops her, “Wait.”

Basira points to the rows of filing cabinets and moves toward them, “We should open these, so the papers catch.”

“Nice,” Daisy grins and joins her.

Neither of the women startle at the sudden blaring noise of the fire alarms going off. A flashing white light accompanies the sound, and Daisy finds that her blood is singing along to the beat of it. She feels _alive._

They move through the archives, dousing anything they can see, spreading paper where flammables seem a bit too thin. Once they’ve covered enough ground, they retrace their steps over it, backing out of the Archive. When they’re at a safe distance, Daisy takes out a barbecue lighter, and with Basira’s help, she secures the trigger so that it will stay lit. Daisy chucks it, eyes following it through the air, watching with satisfaction as the corner of a piece of paper begins to curl.

“The torches,” Basira says, and points the flame toward the floor. This catches much more quickly, and the two find themselves having to step even farther back as heat begins to grow.

They pause. “Well?” Daisy asks.

“I don’t know,” Basira says, brow creasing. They move toward the area they’d come from, carefully and with purpose. The two assistants from earlier are standing in the office Jon had led them to, looking anxious. Tim grips the handle of the axe with both hands.

“Where are they?” Daisy barks, but her insides are curling with excitement.

“We’re not going to let you kill Jon,” Tim says, brandishing his axe much like a child would. “Even if you are police.”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, not yet,” Sasha says, eyes narrowed.

“This is useless,” Basira rolls her eyes, “We need to keep moving. They can’t have gotten far.”

Daisy turns, trying to listen, and is struck in the back by something soft. She looks back dangerously, to see Sasha’s arm cocked. “We mean it.”

Her breath is coming through her nose, and she grits her teeth when she says, “I’m not going to kill Jon. Not yet. Not when its what _he_ wants.”

“You aren’t?” Tim asks, surprised. Daisy growls, losing her patience. Before anyone can do anything else, a new kind of siren is added to the mix.

“Is that thee fire brigade?” Sasha asks, confused.

* * *

“We have to get to the tunnels,” Jon pants, his hand secured in Martin’s as he leads them toward the trap door.

“Tunnels?” Martin balks, “How do you know Elias is coming after us? Won’t he—won’t burning down the Archives be a bigger threat?”

“He’ll have to choose,” Jon says, “but Jonah Magnus is a very vain man.”

Jon bursts into the room where he’d once spent so much time and wrenches open the trapdoor. It’s never had a reason to be locked, here.

Martin pauses, gazing into the abyss warily, “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Jon says, “I really, really am.”

Jon descends, hoping Martin will follow. He does. The world is dark around them, but it’s familiar to Jon. He grabs Martin’s hand again, without thinking, and pulls him in a direction. For others, the Panopticon is the center of a maze. For Jon, it’s like walking home—he barely has to think about which twists and turns to take.

It isn’t long before they can hear Elias behind them. “Jon,” he croons, “I’m beginning to get frustrated—your behavior is childish.”

“I think I smell smoke,” Jon calls back, because he Knows that Elias Knows they’re there. There isn’t any hiding here.

“Come now,” Elias says, “Did you really think I’d let you burn down the Archives? You thought you could succeed where Gertrude failed?”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice,” Jon gripes, hand squeezing around Martin’s.

“Jon,” Martin hisses, “Should you really be antagonizing him?”

“It’s alright,” Jon says, “It’s going to be alright.”

Jon flinches when Martin murmurs, “Are you sure?”

After a few more turns, Jon Knows they are close. He tugs Martin closer, “Listen,” he says softly, “I need you—I need you to be careful. Keep as much distance between you and Elias as possible, no matter what happens.”

“What are you going to do?” Martin asks, almost breathless.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jon says, but he doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to.

“Why—Why doesn’t he have eyes?” Martin asks.

“Jonah has his own little ritual. The Head of the Archives becomes his eyes—literally.”

There is dim light in the panopticon, torches lining the wall. Jon almost chokes at the familiarity of it, unable to see it not jutting into the sky. He shakes his head and moves forward, toward the limp body of Jonah Magnus. Jon reaches into his pocket, pulling out the knife that he’s kept there out of habit. He has no real idea how it’s actually supposed to be used, but Daisy had insisted on him always having one. The habit had been hard to break.

“Jon,” Elias says from the entrance, a pipe held loosely in one hand, “You know it’s not going to be that easy.”

“Why’s that?” Jon sneers, stepping closer to the body of Jonah Magnus.

“Those pitiful fires your friends started are already being put out,” Elias smiles, sighing, “Honestly, Jon, you thought emergency services would be slow to respond to a _library fire?”_

With a sudden terror, Jon Knows that Elias is right. He glances at Martin, pressed against the wall, feeling panic well up in his throat. Elias’s grin grows sharper and he takes a step forward, “You can’t beat me, Jon. That’s not how this story goes.”

Jon knows he’s running out of time. He has to _do_ something. He looks back at Jonah, frail and withered—

Wait.

Vain, he had called the man. Obssessed with immortality even if it cost everyone else, but…but Jon had seen that life. It was hardly that of a king—Jonah had died easily enough by the time Jon had finally found him. He’d barely been alive at all, shriveled and disgusting. Perhaps Jon could show him that.

“I’ve been kind enough to let you play this little fantasy of yours out,” Elias steps closer, his pipe swinging, “I don’t want to have to do anything I’ll regret.” Elias looks toward Martin, and Jon has to _try._

“You think you’re going to be the King of a ruined world?” Jon asks, lip curling, “You want to know how this story actually ends?”

Jon’s not exactly sure how you go about placing knowledge in someone else’s head. He recalls with some effort the memories he has of the Apocalypse and points them toward Elias. He can’t—He can’t focus the memories. It feels like he is being swept away, hanging on for dear life. But something flickers in Elias’s gaze and he knows he has to keep going. Flashes blot out Jon’s vision— _the Statement, the safe house, the Corpse Root, NotSasha, the Panopticon_ —it’s almost enough to drop Jon to his knees. Somewhere, he hears the clattering of a pipe, but it sounds so far away.

“It’s beautiful,” Elias says, sounding mesmerized.

_Holding Martin in his arms as the life left him._

_Ascending the Panopticon._

_Beholding the ruined man who had been arrogant enough to bring it about._

Jon tastes blood in his mouth, but he pushes further because this is what he needs Jonah to see. A skeletal old man, writhing on a stone floor, reaching desperately toward a throne. It’s empty.

“This is what’s waiting for you,” Jon snarls, his voice echoing around in his head, “You’re the same thing you always were: nothing.”

Jon moves closer to the old man, and Jonah cries out to him, “J-Jon, p-please…”

“No,” Elias says, _“No.”_

“You beg for your life,” Jon says, “You say you’re sorry. You ask me for _help.”_

Jonah does so, dry lips cracking around his words, skin almost see-through. “But I give you what you deserve,” Jon says softly, “I turn the Watcher’s Gaze on you. And do you know what you feel?”

“Jon, stop this,” Elias says, and Jon loves the tremor in his voice.

“You feel nothing,” Jon says, smiling at the memory, “because the Eye doesn’t care about you. It doesn’t need you. It doesn’t care about you.”

There is screaming—from Elias, from Jonah, from Jon. The memory feels so real, so visceral, it is hard not to get lost in it. Jon feels—detached. He knows that he’s doing the right thing, but why should he stop here? Why not _Know_ everything, why not _see_ everything? He could have it all.

Jon watches himself stride over to the corpse of Jonah Magnus and kick it, furious that his grief had not felt assuaged now that he’d gotten revenge. This is when he’d turned to the Ceaseless Watcher and tried to stare right back. This is when he was unmade.

What if he stayed unmade?

Jon thinks he hears a voice calling to him, over the screaming, but it’s lost in the sea stretching out before him. He’s not just opened the door with the universe behind it, he’s stepped through.

That voice though…who is it?

Is it Basira?

Jon Sees her, smiling at a bad joke, knowing her way out of the Unknowing, pressing keys into his hand, lowering her gun in a dense jungle. No, they had never really been close, but she’d been so strong, a solid point that he could rely on. She’d taken care of the Archive when he couldn’t. Basira was solid, but no…the voice wasn’t Basira.

Daisy, then? Jon Sees her as she’d given him her statement, feels her pinky wrap around his in the Buried, feels himself relax into the chair at his desk because she is there, and he is safe. He loves Daisy, he Knows. Daisy had Known him, had shown him that he wasn’t a monster—not yet. He wishes that the voice belongs to Daisy, but it doesn’t.

So it must be…

Martin.

Jon Sees Martin preparing tea in the work kitchen, sees him disappear around a corner, feels Martin’s cheeks on his palms, watches as Martin blinks awake and smiles at him. Martin is all that Jon can See, can Know. Martin hadn’t cared that he was a monster. Martin had loved him anyway. Martin _needed_ him.

There is a sick cracking sound that brings Jon back to reality, blinking rapidly in the dim light. Martin is standing over Elias, huffing, pipe in hand. Elias looks so…so weak. He is crying, and Jon turns to see tears wetting Jonah’s face as well. “Jon?” Martin cries, his voice hoarse.

There’s the voice, Jon thinks. “I’m here,” he says, “I see you.”

“Should I…?” Martin looks around with wild eyes as Elias starts to move. Instinctively, he raises the pipe and brings it down on the man’s head again. Elias drops to the floor, but Jon knows he is still alive.

“It’s alright,” Jon says, stumbling forward, “Don’t—Don’t watch.”

Jon doesn’t wait to see if Martin listens before he descends on Elias. “You deserve this,” he murmurs, “and now you that this…this is a mercy.” He Knows he has to go for the eyes, so he does.

Elias tries to fight him, but it’s feeble. His mouth spills curses in a hundred languages or maybe they’re prayers. Jon uses his knife to stab Elias once more, right where his heart should be, and feels a blinding pain ricochet through his head. Martin cries out, and Jon blinks through the pain to find him. “M-Martin? Are you a-alright?”

“Just a,” Martin is gasping for breath, “just a headache, but I think I’m okay.”

“Oh,” Jon says breezily, fighting to stay upright, “Good.”

“Jon?”

Jon’s hit the ground before he can respond. He’s weak, he Knows, he’s severed something within himself that probably should have stayed there. Martin’s hands flutter over Jon’s face and it feels nice, “Martin,” he tastes something coppery, “You need to—I’m sorry, you need to kill Magnus, I c-can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Martin says, “It’s okay, Jon, it’s going to be alright. Just—hang on, okay?”

Jon nods, or at least he thinks he does. It’s getting a bit hard to see. Martin stands shakily and picks something up near Jon before moving away. He returns a few minutes later and kneels next to Jon, “It’s done, alright? You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s not—” Jon struggles, “It’s not done.”

“Jon,” Martin warns, “Just be quiet okay? You’re going to be okay.”

He could be, he Knows. Jon raises his hand, grasping wildly until he catches Martin’s, “Martin…I don’t belong here.”

“Yes, you do,” Martin insists, though he’s crying, “Aren’t we—aren’t we supposed to get a happy ending?”

Jon tries to sit up, though it hurts. He needs Martin to understand. “This is y-your happy ending, Martin. You have—you have _friends_ who love you and you’ve got r-real experience n-now. Once I—Once I go, you’ll be free. I want—I want you to be happy, to _live.”_

“But what about you?” Martin sobs, squeezing Jon’s hand as if he’s going to disappear. He might.

“I’m going—I’m going to be with the people I love, Martin,” Jon says, unable to really control how light it sounds. “That’s w-where I b-belong. With them. With you.”

Jon struggles to lean forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s knuckles, “You’re going to be amazing.”

Martin can’t contain himself, launching into Jon’s arms. Jon thinks this is a good way to die. “I can’t do it,” Martin whispers, “Not to you.”

“I’m never going to make you do anything, Martin,” Jon whispers back, “but please, let me—let me make this choice.”

Martin shudders against him for a long time, but eventually, he nods. “Jon,” he sniffles, “I love you.”

“I know,” Jon smiles, and he does.

“I think it’s time to go,” a voice says, and Martin nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Who—Who’re you?” Martin demands, curling in front of Jon protectively.

“He’s a friend,” Jon coughs, “He’ll take you home.”

“Are you ready?” Leitner asks, but its not quite clear who he’s talking to. He’s got a book in each hand.

“No,” Martin says, but he stands reluctantly.

“It’s time, Archivist.” Leitner steps closer, avoiding the bloody mess at any chance he can.

“Alright,” Jon says, and he smiles. It is, perhaps, the most peaceful Jon has ever looked. Martin can’t watch as the old man begins to read, stumbles to the outside of the corridor. After a few minutes and a rush of air that shouldn’t be there, Leitner joins him.

Martin peeks back inside and feels himself break, just a little. Jon is lying in the traditional pose of a corpse, his hands folded over one of Leitner’s books. It looks like there is a cottage in the middle of a field on the cover.

“Come on,” Leitner says gently.

“We’re just going to leave him here?” Martin demands through his tears.

“Don’t worry,” Leitner smiles, “I’m going to ensure that he’s entombed. Step back.”

Martin lets himself be pulled back, and Leitner cracks open his other book. He reads from it in the near dark, and the walls begin to shift around them, Jon disappearing. It’s the last nail in his coffin, Martin thinks, before he is reduced to sobs.

The journey to the surface is confusing and disorienting. Martin barely pays attention to any of it. Leitner leaves him at the ladder for the trapdoor, and Martin climbs robotically. He is barely fazed by the flurry of motion around him. He blinks and he finds himself in front of Tim and Sasha.

“Where’s Jon?” Sasha is saying, her voice shaking, “Where’s Jon?”

“Martin…” Tim says, “Did he…”

Martin’s not sure why he says it. The words, though, they feel _right._ They make him—They loosen the grief gripping in his heart just a smudge. “I think,” Martin says, “I think he’s gone home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so...
> 
> -georgie was touched by the end, so she had a dream of jon Knowing elias to death with the help of his anchors, ultimately resulting in jon's death  
> -the end always has a way of getting what its supposed to, which is why sasha didn't feel right but i didn't have the heart to kill her off  
> -jon will always love martin, but they could never be together in a world where jon looks at him sees the man he loved who died and martin can't see where jon is coming from so to me jon dying and being implied up in heaven with his homies is the happy ending  
> -i know there's mistakes in the chapters, i'll be going through in fixing them
> 
> thank you for all of the comments. believe me when i say they are what fueled this fic. there literally would not have been a second chapter without the support i got. <3


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